Ryan's Tale, An Encounter With An ASA
by P'al Kwai
Summary: Based on the S10 finale, Habeas Corpse, it's part 3 of my Ryan's Tale series. Part 1 can be found on my website, because it is rated MA.


Author's Note: This series started as a story through Ryan Wolfe's eyes, thus the first person point of view. In this section, Ryan is incapacitated for a good part of it, so chapters without him are told in the third person. Any parts with him are still first person, to keep it consistent with the first two sections. FYI, when he tells his story, it's how he sees things, but it may or may not be the truth.

May 9. 2009

It's his voice that brings me back from the darkness that has haunted me for months now.

"Ryan, it's time to wake-up. Ryan, **wake-up**!"

A part of my brain sparks, and I attempt to fight my way back to consciousness, but this time my nightmares hang on hard, and my uncooperative limbs refuse to work as I try and flee from the monsters.

"**Ryan!**" His voice has become louder and more demanding causing my sleeping torments to recede. "Ryan." His voice now lowers to a whisper, as his arms grip me in a bear hug from behind. "Open your eyes, son. You're in Dade Memorial Hospital."

I struggle to open them, and the first sight that greets me are the stunned faces of Natalia and Calleigh. As I begin to regain my faculties, I realize that I have a throbbing pain on the right side of my head. "My head," I begin feebly, trying to raise my hand, but H only tightens his hold preventing any movement.

"Ryan, I want you to do something for me."

"K," I say, as I start to take note of my surroundings. I'm in a hospital bed, but not lying flat, but on my side. During my nightmares, I must have been trying to claw my way out. The nurse and the medical assistant in the room are backed away; guess my flailing had them taking cover. Natalia and Calleigh are also standing back, their expressions a mixture of shock and sympathy. Both women are sharp as tacks, so I'm sure they now know my secret.

"I want you to let these people help you," H tells me quietly. "Don't fight them."

"I won't," I promise, as I am now fully awake and aware that not only does my head throb, but I ache all over.

H slowly loosens his grip and then motions for everyone to begin. They approach me tentatively, but when I don't start swinging, they jump into action. The assistant immediately attaches a blood pressure cuff and a pulse monitor on my finger, while the nurse brings out an IV needle and tape. Calleigh and Natalia also approach. Armed with a camera, Calleigh begins to take pictures of my injuries. Natalia looks me in the eye before starting to take evidence off of me.

"Ryan, may I touch you?" she asks politely, and my slight nod signals that it is okay.

"Make sure you get the trace that's there." Horatio points to my head.

"Ryan." Calleigh is studying my left hand. "Is that a burn?"

"Yeah, yeah." I struggle to make my sluggish brain work. "A lamp. . .I ran into a lamp."

"O-kay." Calleigh stares at me, waiting for more of an explanation. When I give her nothing more, she looks over at H.

"Can you tell us what happened?" he asks gently.

I frown in confusion, as bits of memory flash through my head. I remember a fight, but was it with a tall, blond man, or a man with a ski mask?

"There was. . .there was," I stammer, but the more I try to remember, the more confused I become. I start to become agitated, which H instantly notices.

"Ryan." His voice holds a note of warning. "Take a breath, stay calm."

"Mr. Wolfe." Dr. Talbet enters the room briskly. "I see that emergency services brought you," he breaks off, as he studies my chart. He glances around the room, taking the scene in. Knowing my history, he says nothing more, and immediately orders pain medication and a sedative. "Nasty head wound," he comments as he glances at the side of my skull, where Natalia is carefully picking out pieces of material that will be analyzed at the crime lab.

I'm just relieved that I drew him again as my doctor, a smart, competent man, who knows enough to not air my medical history to a room full of people.

"We need to clean your head and then stitch it up," he tells me, while scribbling notes in my chart. "We'll take good care of you." He gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder, and then exchanges a lingering look with H before asking. "How long will your people take?"

"Natalia?" Horatio redirects the question to her, as she is still working on me.

"Almost done here," she answers. "I need to scrape under his nails."

"We need his clothes too." Calleigh says finishing up the last of the photographs.

"We should get him into a hospital gown now anyway," the nurse chimes in, as Talbet tells her to page him, when he's needed. He leaves the room like he entered, in a hurry.

"I'll help him undr. . .," H starts but is interrupted by Walter coming into the room. "Ah, Mr. Simmons, just in time. Help Ryan with his clothes and then finish processing him with Ms. Boa Vista. I want everything bagged and tagged ASAP. Ms. Duquesne, accompany me back to the lab."

Calleigh is momentarily taken aback. She had started processing me for evidence and expected to see it through. But being the professional that she is, she doesn't contradict or question Horatio's order.

"Ms. Boa Vista, as soon as the evidence is gathered here, return to lab, and Mr. Simmons. . . ."

"Yeah, I know," Walter cuts him off, as he studies me, shaking his head. I must really look a fright. "Stay with Wolfe until you return." It takes but a moment for him to realize that he's being border line disrespectful. "I mean, sir," he adds hastily.

"Do your jobs, people," Horatio says, as he puts his sunglasses on. "We're looking for someone, who assaulted a police officer, and then threw him out in the streets. Ms. Duquesne," he addresses Calleigh and the two of them leave the room.

"Man, Wolfe." Walter circles the bed and is now studying the wounded side of my skull. "Next time you decide to go rogue, give a brother a call for back-up."

"Yeah," I could only agree. "I should have. Just hope my head gets sewed up soon before any more of my brains fall out."

My bit of humor has both Walter and Natalia smiling.

"And thanks guys, both of you," I tell them gratefully, "for having my back."

* * *

Climbing into the passenger's side of the hummer Calleigh looks over at Horatio, trying to gauge his mood. She senses that something more than just an assault on an officer happened with Ryan, but she doesn't know what.

"Okay, I don't want to be unprofessional here," she says, buckling herself in. "But Ryan was going nuts in there, and you were telling him to wake-up? What does that mean?"

Starting up the car's engine, Horatio doesn't reply immediately. He ponders an answer, as he wants to give Calleigh an explanation but doesn't want to betray Ryan's confidence. "Ryan suffers from Parasomnia, so even though he appeared awake, he was actually in a sleep state."

"I've heard of Parasomnia." Calleigh is thoughtful and even more curious, but her instinct tells her not to push. "From the way he was acting, I'm guessing that Night Terrors are also a part of it."

Horatio nods his head in acknowledgment but says nothing more.

"The Russians!" Calleigh can't help herself. "After they kidnapped him, he just hasn't been the same."

Again, Horatio thinks before he speaks, and what comes out is a simple: "Ryan is struggling with his demons."

* * *

"Hey." Eric Delko greets Calleigh, as she studies the photos of Ryan's injuries on a light board. "Found blood and hair at the scene. There was also a second pool of blood, can only hope it's from the attacker. Patrol is canvassing the area, looking for anyone who saw something."

"Don't suppose you found a broken lamp there?" Calleigh looks over her shoulder at Eric, giving him a wide smile.

"Lamp?" Setting an evidence bag on the table, Eric could only scratch his head.

"See this burn." Calleigh points to a picture of Ryan's hand. "He says it's from a lamp."

"He knows what happened? Who attacked him?"

"Unfortunately, he doesn't remember much of anything," Calleigh replies. "He's quite confused, but for some reason, he did recall that one bit of information."

"Bad head injury?" Eric asks. "Because the hair and the blood on the street curb say. . . ."

"Very bad," Calleigh breaks in. "And there's," she hesitates a moment, pondering if she should tell Eric, but before a decision can be made, they're interrupted by the entrance of Natalia.

"I'm back." Natalia walks into the room, looking worried and tired. "I got trace from his head wound, scraping from his fingernails, and his clothes." She holds up three evidence bags.

"And Ryan?" Calleigh asks.

"He was getting his head stitched up when I left." She shakes her head sadly. "He was trying to put a good front up for us, but man, he was just wild before. And it seemed like only Horatio could handle him. I was actually a bit nervous after H left because if Ryan started going off again. . . ."

"He suffers from Parasomnia," Calleigh interrupts. "I got that from Horatio. It was Night Terrors that was causing his violent behavior, so when he's awake there shouldn't be a problem."

"God!" Natalia raises her hands to her head and paces a few steps. "Poor Ryan!"

"Parasomnia?" A puzzled Eric asks. "A side effect from his head injury?"

"No, he's had it for some time now, in fact, I'm guessing since his kidnapping by the Russians."

"What? It's caused by some trauma or something?" Eric is still seeking clarification, while Natalia continues her pacing.

"Yes, and I, I. . ., Calleigh pauses and takes a deep breath, "I'm feeling guilty because I was so hard on him back then."

"Hard on him? But we knew nothing about the kidnapping until after the fact. Granted, I'm sure it was frightening, but he only suffered bumps and bruises."

"That we know about." Calleigh stares straight at Eric. "I think there was more, much more. Horatio knows but is protecting Ryan's privacy."

"More?" Natalia stops her pacing. "What do you mean more? Like torture?"

"Torture!" Eric can't believe what he's hearing. "How could it have been torture? He reported to work that day, and looked fine, except for a fat lip and a couple of bruises."

There can be torture that doesn't leave any visible marks," Calleigh says calmly. "You should know that." She directs her slight rebuke at Eric.

"Oh God!" Natalia rubs her face. "All this time, and none of us knew. After I was almost drown by Randy North, he and I had breakfast. He alluded to something, but never in my wildest imagination did I suspect that he had been tortured. So now what? Do we ask him? Do we. . . ?"

"We respect his privacy," Calleigh breaks in. "If he wants to tell us anything, he'll do so in his own time. In the meantime, if we want to help, we should concentrate on finding his current attacker."

"Right." Natalia gathers herself, and pushes the images of Ryan being tortured to the back of her mind. "You know, he, Walter, and I were all having drinks together last night, then Samantha joined us. We had words," Natalia pauses as she rolls her eyes. "Ryan left, and Sam followed him. I saw the two of them talking in the parking lot. I trust her as far as I can throw her. Do you think she knows something?"

"Or is it because you just don't like her?" Eric asks teasingly. He cannot fathom that an attractive woman, a fellow police officer could be a bad guy.

But Natalia is in no mood for teasing. "Hey, someone switched that shell casing for Vogel, and my money says it's her."

"Nah," Eric disagrees, "It had to be that ASA, Avery; he was in the lab at the time, and what do we really know about him?"

"Well the two of them are lovers, so they were probably in on it together," Natalia snaps back.

What?" Both Calleigh and Eric are taken by surprise.

"You mean you didn't know?" Natalia looks at both of them. "They've been dating for sometime now. He stopped here to pick her up many times. In fact, for all I know they may live together."

"Live together?" A light bulb goes on in Eric's head. "Cal," he says, as he fumbles through a pile of folders on the table, "look up Avery's address, will you?"

"Sure, what are you thinking?" Calleigh knows Eric well and can see that he's on to something. Stepping over to the computer, she punches in Josh Avery's name. "NE 167th street," she begins and then stops at the look on Eric's face. "What?"

"That's less than a block from where Ryan's was found," Eric says grimly.

"I think we have a lead." Calleigh is also grim. "We need to tell Horatio."

* * *

Entering the DNA lab, Horatio spots Samantha Owens hard at work. He quickly notes that the blood and hair evidence from Ryan still hasn't been touched.

"Ms. Owens, may I have a word with you a moment, please?" he motions to the corridor. "Ms. Boa Vista," he turns to Natalia, who had been following him to the lab. "I want the blood at the scene analyzed at once.

"Yes, sir." Natalia immediately complies, and she and Samantha exchange hostile glares as they pass each other.

"Lieutenant, I was just getting to that." Samantha steps out with Horatio, but her head is still turned in Natalia's direction.

"Ms. Owens, you were seen with Mr. Wolfe last night, and I want to know where the two of you went after the Maricopa."

"Went? We talked a bit, and then left **separately**." Samantha puts emphasis on the word separately.

Horatio tilts his head, trying to determine whether she's telling the truth or not. With suspects he usually recognizes lies, but with subordinates he can't always be certain. He knows in those cases his personal feelings and affection tend to cloud his judgment. "What did you talk about?"

"Just casual talk," Samantha hedges. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it has been brought to my attention that you may have been the last person to see and speak with Mr. Wolfe before he met up with his attacker. Also, he was found nearby your boyfriend's residence. So," Horatio pauses, hands on hips, "What do you know?"

"Nothing! A bunch of us were meeting at the Maricopa for drinks. I arrived there later than the rest, and when I got there I didn't like the conversation. Ryan left, and I followed him. We exchanged a few words, and like I said, we went our separate ways."

"Did Mr. Wolfe go see Josh Avery?"

"I don't know!" Samantha's voice becomes louder. "Why don't you ask him?"

Horatio feels the anger starting to boil up in him. Something is not right. "If there's something I should know, this is your opportunity." He stares Samantha straight in the eye.

"I don't know anything! And perhaps I should be calling my union rep."

"Do that! In the meantime, you're on suspension. I want your badge and gun." Fury is still spreading in Horatio's gut; he hates being lied too, especially by one of his own.

"This is bullshit!" Samantha mutters as she stalks off.

Horatio watches her for a moment, before pulling out his cell phone. Time to have a talk with Assistant State Attorney, Josh Avery.

* * *

Looking up at ASA Josh Avery, Horatio isn't awed by the man's position or height. He's taken down bigger men before. "Was Mr. Wolfe at your home last night?" he asks, as Avery's lawyer, Darren Vogel rolls his eyes. He notices that Avery's knuckles are scraped, and his suspicions deepen.

"He came to my house, **uninvited**, and I told him to get lost. After leaving, he must have ran into mugger or. . . ."

"Or someone he owes money too," Vogel breaks in. "I've done a bit of research on your man, Wolfe, Lieutenant. Seems he likes a spot of gambling."

Horatio isn't surprised by Vogel's tactics, finding dirt on the people he's up against is his M.O. "Was he in your home, Counselor?"

"Why would I let someone like him into my house?" Avery's attitude is pure arrogance.

"This interview is over." Vogel stands up and heads for the door. "Call us back, when you have proof of something."

Still standing toe-to-toe with Horatio, Avery can't help himself. He has to get in one last jab. Leaning down, he says in a low voice. "I remember Wolfe, short, skinny guy. It probably would only take a couple of punches to take him out, even if he is a cop."

It's that last statement that erases any doubts Horatio harbors regarding the man's guilt. Josh Avery is his man. Not moving one inch, despite Avery's attempt to intimidate by invading his space, Horatio whispers back, "if you touch or go near him again, I'll kill you."

"What did you say?" Avery straightens, surprised. He didn't expect such a direct attack.

"You heard me." Horatio's calm voice belies his words.

"What was that, Lieutenant?" Vogel has stepped back into the interview room. "A threat?"

"No." Horatio turns his head to look at Vogel. "A guarantee."

* * *

"Zach, boy, how ya doing?" Walter greets patrolman, Kevin Zachary, who pops his head in to see how I'm doing.

"Your Lieutenant has us coming by to check on you every hour," he tells me, as he enters my room at Walter's come-in wave.

"Really? Why? I've already got a watch dog." I look over at Walter, who gives me a shrug.

"Guess your Lieutenant had some kind of show-down with an Assistant State Attorney, threatened to kill him. So now everyone's in an uproar, rumor has it that he may be suspended for it. But whatever the guy said, gave your boss something to worry about, because we've been ordered to come by Dade Memorial on our runs. Don't know if it's going to last; the higher ups may put a kibosh on it, since they're not looking at him too favorably now."

"Oh, my God!" I swallow hard, guilt rising in me. This is my mess, and I'm bringing H down with me.

"Anyway, how ya doing?" Kevin asks, oblivious to how his words had affected me.

"Okay," I croak out, trying to restrain the panic that's germinating in my gut.

"Well, see you next hour." He gives us a farewell salute and then departs.

"Assistant State Attorney," Walter ponders. "Must mean Josh Avery. Was he the one, who attacked you?" He looks at me with curiosity.

"I-I," I fumble for an answer, as I try to control myself. My panic is growing, and my body wants to lash out against it. "I remember going to the guy's house, but I don't know if he's the one, who knocked me out." Squeezing the hospital blanket between my fingers, I try and calm myself.

"Hmm." Walter is mulling over what I just told him. "This might be something H should know. We should call him."

"Go ahead," I manage to rasp out. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my vitals on the monitor starting to elevate. I need to get Walter out of the room. "Go somewhere and call him on your cell. I don't want to call from here, too many people going in and out. Also get me a coke while you're at it."

"Fine," Walter says agreeably, as he stands, ready to leave and find a spot, where cell phone usage is allowed. "Not sure about the coke though? Caffeine probably isn't the best thing for you, considering the sedatives they're pumping into you. I'll grab you a 7-up."

"Whatever." I'm getting desperate now because I can feel my restraint slipping. My breathing has become faster and more erratic, and the illuminated numbers on the medical monitor are rising fast. Walter is no sooner out the door, and I'm ripping off the blood pressure cuff, and any other cord that's connecting me to something. Then something snaps inside of me, and I can't stop. I continue to tear anything that's on me; IV, hospital gown, bandages.

I'm just starting to get to my head stitches, when two nurses come running in. They begin shouting, but there's such a roaring in my ears, that I can't hear what they're saying; I can only see their mouths moving. A male orderly is called in, and he makes a grab for me, which only fuels my wild behavior. I start throwing punches, but with everything they've pumped into me, my reflexes are slow, so I ending up hitting air. The momentum of my arm moving forward has me taking a nose dive off the bed.

By this time, a couple of security guards have arrived on the scene, and between them and the orderly, they wrestle back into the bed, while the nurses bring out restraints. Dr. Talbet had been paged, and suddenly he's also in the room, giving orders, and trying to reason with me.

'Ryan, Ryan! Calm yourself. We've called Dr. Simmons; he'll be here shortly."

"No," I manage to gasp out, as some rational thought comes back to me. "I don't want Simmons. He's fired, and I don't want MDPD's nose in my affairs. I just want, want. . . ." I cease my struggling and go limp. I simply want to stop being a burden to H, and give Walter a break from having to baby-sit me. "Just take me to the psych ward and lock me up."

"Ryan, you're not thinking clearly," Dr. Talbet begins, but his words only serve to infuriate me, and I start to fight again, but by this time, they've got the restraints and security guards holding me down.

"Alright, alright," Talbet surrenders. "Take him to the psych ward; we'll give him more sedation there."

My breaths come out in loud rasps, and faintly I can hear a voice yelling at us, as the nurses and security start wheeling my bed out of the room and into the hallway.

"Doc, doc." Walter has returned. 'Where you taking him?"

"Psych ward. He's completely out of control." One of the nurses answers, and then I hear nothing more, as the roaring in my ears returns.

* * *

Walking through the wide corridors of the MDPD crime lab, Horatio hears his phone chirp. Pulling it out of his pocket, he sees that the caller is Walter and mentally does a finger-cross, hoping that Ryan has perhaps remembered something. "Yeah."

"H, there's a problem here."

Listening to Walter's excited explanation, Horatio can feel his stomach tightening; things are going from bad to worse. "Get Dr. Simmons there **now**." His voice has become louder, causing some of the workers to turn and look at him. "He's already there? Put him on the phone!"

His conversation with Dr. Simmons is brief, causing frustration and the feeling of helplessness to rise in him like a volcano. Mixing in with the anger, he's been carrying ever since Ryan was discovered unconscious in the street, he uncharacteristically loses his restraint. "Keep me posted!" he barks in the phone, as he steps into the nearest lab. With one sweep of the arm, he clears the lab table of its equipment. Glass shatters as it hit's the floor, and the few, unfortunate employees who are present, suddenly remember they have to be elsewhere.

Breathing heavy, Horatio fights for rational thought. Years ago, back in New York he had been known as a hot-head, and a former commander had sent him to anger management classes. Remembering them, he takes a deep breath and tries to push his emotions down. Losing control is not going to help anyone, especially Ryan.

"Lieutenant Caine." A tall, muscular man stands in the doorway, undaunted by his display of rage. "Detective Adams, narcotics."

Looking over at the man, Horatio resists the urge to tell him to get lost. "If you're in need of assistance from this department, then go and see CSI Duquesne. She'll. . . ."

"Actually it's you I want to talk to," Adams interrupts. "And I think you're going to want to hear what I have to say. It's about the Assistant State Attorney, Josh Avery."

* * *

May, 12, 2009

"Lieutenant." Dr. Robert Simmons raises his hands in mock surrender, as Horatio and Detective Adams enter his office. "I've made numerous phone calls, and four attempts, but they refuse to allow me to see Ryan. I haven't given up, but it doesn't look good."

"It's okay, Doctor," Horatio reassures Simmons. "I think we've found another way to see him, and I would like you to be with us when we do."

"Okay." Simmons is puzzled, as he studies the man in front of him. Horatio looks tired and haggard. "And how are you planning to accomplish this?"

"Material witness warrant." Adams steps up and tosses a paper on Simmon's desk. "Oh, and nice to see you again, doc." At Horatio's questioning stare, he adds, "I've been known to be a loose canon from time to time."

Despite himself, Horatio smiles slightly; he's really starting to like Detective Adams.

"Okay." Simmons picks up the paper and studies it. He's been a psychiatrist for the MDPD for many years, so he's a bit familiar with police regulations and procedures. "This is your material witness warrant." He looks over at Adams. "So, Ryan knows something about a crime **you're** investigating?"

"Yep." Adams grins, as he folds his arms across his chest. "He was in ASA Josh Avery's house, and it's probable that he saw something regarding narcotics."

Leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his bald head, Simmons can't believe that any judge bought that story. The disbelief shows on his face because Adams quickly adds, "a very reliable C.I. of mine has linked Avery to narcotics. Now, who's going to believe a person with a rap sheet versus a Assistant State Attorney? No one. But my C.I. isn't wrong, and I think Wolfe can give me something useful."

"Because he was in Avery's house?" Simmons takes off his glasses and hands the document back to Adams. "But I thought we didn't really know if Ryan was actually in his house or not."

"I have forensic evidence that says he was," Horatio says.

"Uh huh." Simmons knows that the two men are either outright lying or bending the truth, but either way, it's not really his concern. "Fine, gentlemen," he says, getting up from behind his desk, "I'm ready, when you are."

* * *

Presenting their material witness warrant to the staff psychiatrist of Dade Memorial Hospital, Horatio braces himself for a barrage of bureaucratic nonsense, along with patients' rights, blah, blah, blah, but is pleasantly surprised when the Doctor raises no objections.

"I wish you would have come earlier, Lieutenant." Dr. Goldberg, a small, unassuming man, addresses Horatio, even though both Adams and Dr. Simmons are with him. "This late in the day, Ryan won't be much use to you."

"And why is that?" Simmons asks.

Goldberg shakes his head. "He's difficult during the day and impossible at night, so by late afternoon, we had to heavily sedate him and put him in restraints. Here, I'll take you to see him, but my guess is that you'll have to come back tomorrow. Mornings he's somewhat more manageable and coherent."

For three days a frustrated Horatio had been preaching self-control to himself, while he waited for the material witness warrant. But the doctor's words cause the bile to start churning in his stomach again. His patience is almost at an end.

Dr. Goldberg leads them through a set of locked doors and down a couple of hallways. Another locked door, and they're ushered into a small, hospital room. At the sight of Ryan strapped down to a narrow bed, his eyes doped up, body limp has Horatio instinctively moving forward. His only thought is get Ryan out. A restraining hand stops him, as Dr. Simmons immediately notices his intent.

"I can't believe that this course of treatment is necessary," Simmons airs his protest. "Ryan was doing well, very well with only an anti-anxiety medication. He had been working, and. . . ."

"I know, doctor," Goldberg breaks in. "I read your file on him, but this is for his protection as well as ours." He looks over at Horatio, whose eyes are still glued to Ryan. "He becomes so violent, that not only is he a danger to our staff, but to himself. Right before he was admitted, he had been fighting with an orderly and two security guards, which caused him to fall face first out of bed. It certainly didn't do his head trauma any good."

"Could the injury to his head have caused some neurological problem?" Simmons is still stymied over how far Ryan has regressed.

"Perhaps. Our staff neurologist, Dr. Torres is checking him out. Some tests were done, and we're awaiting the results. What I don't understand is how he could have gone this long without have sedation at night?" Goldberg looks at Simmons for clarification.

"He spent nights with the Lieutenant here." Simmons points to Horatio.

"And he never became violent?" Goldberg is truly puzzled.

"He did," Horatio admits. "But I was always able to restrain him, and then could get him to wake up, usually within minutes."

"Really?" Goldberg ponders Horatio's answer for a moment. "And you are his supervisor, correct?"

"Almost five years," Horatio affirms.

"This is fascinating." Goldberg looks at Simmons. "It's like Ryan is conditioned to follow the Lieutenant's orders, even in a sleep state." He shakes his head. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll release him into my custody." Horatio steps over to the bed and looks down at Ryan, who appears somewhat awake, but makes no acknowledgment of his presence. "Ryan," he whispers, and lays a hand on his forehead. An ever so slight glimmer of recognition in his eyes, and then they go blank again.

"I'd love to," Goldberg says with genuine sympathy "But you're not family, and Ryan claims this is where he wants to be."

"He probably wasn't in his right mind, when he made that decision," Simmons injects.

"I agree, but even if he is deemed incompetent, without family, where would he be placed? Here in a psychiatric facility." Goldberg points out with a fatalistic shrug. "But, you know. . . ." A thought occurs to him. "You could apply for guardianship." He turns to Horatio. "With guardianship, you could then make his medical decisions."

It's an idea." Simmons nods his agreement. "From what I've seen and heard, I certainly could make the determination that Ryan is currently unable to make sound decisions for himself."

"I would back that." Goldberg offers his assistance. "It definitely sounds like he'd be better off in your custody, and the supervision of Dr. Simmons, than here, drugged up and tied up."

"Horatio, I'll give you a name of a good lawyer, who deals with adult guardianships." Dr. Simmons gently tugs Horatio's arm, signaling to him that it's time to leave. He doesn't like the dangerous glint in H's eyes. He knows enough about the Lieutenant that despite the fact that he's a decorated and experienced officer of the law, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that he could be pushed to do something drastic. Especially when it concerned someone he cared for.

"He's a friend of mine, so I'll personally give him a call and urge him to see you today. We need to get this process moving ASAP. We'll get Ryan home to you soon."

* * *

May 27, 2009

Staring down at my breakfast tray, I pick up a spoon and unenthusiastically stir the oatmeal. It's watery texture makes my stomach turn. Institutional food isn't great to begin with, but now with all the meds they've been pumping into, it really has no appeal. I stir it some more, pretending I'm about to eat it, but I know that none of it is ever going to be eaten. I sigh, wondering if the next step in my life is a feeding tube.

"Hey." A tall, rather good-looking man approaches my table. "Detective Adams, narcotics." He puts a hand on the gold shield hanging around his neck, and then sits down opposite me without an invitation. "I think I'd have better luck getting in to see the President than you. You did read the material witness warrant that's been issued for you?"

I shake my head in the affirmative. I know that Horatio, Dr. Simmons, and this detective Adams have been requesting to see me for a couple of weeks now. I've used every excuse I could think of to deny their visits. "The warrant is pointless," I say to him. "I have no useful information for you."

"Were you in the man's house?" Adams is persistent.

I hesitate, trying to get my hazy memory to work. The images I see are blurry and aren't cohesive, like watching a television that keeps turning on and off. "I'm pretty sure I was in his house, but I don't remember anything about it."

"What makes you think you were actually in his house?" Adams asks, as he watches me stir my oatmeal over and over; I'm very careful to keep the oatmeal from sticking to the sides of the bowl.

"I remember a lamp, yeah, a lamp. I ran into it and. . . ." I stop and look at a faded scar on my left hand. "Burned myself, and then. . . ." My hand reaches up and touches the steri-strips still adorning my head.

Adams sits up a bit straighter, staring at me intently. "What you've told me is helpful, anything else? Even something you think is irrelevant."

I shake my head in the negative. I don't want to think about that night. It only holds bad memories, and a reminder of my colossal ineptness.

Adams continues to stare at me, which is making me extremely uncomfortable. "Are we done here?" I ask, just wanting him to leave.

"Yeah, I guess so." Adams pushes away from the table but doesn't get up. "I remember you from patrol, not a bad cop, and I've heard that you're a good criminalist. Too bad you're such a coward."

I feel my face flush. "You know **nothing **about me," I tell him through gritted teeth.

"I know that all your buddies at the crime lab, and your Lieutenant are working their asses off to find your attacker, but you, you just lie here in this hospital, taking a vacation. Won't even help yourself. Well, buddy. . . ." Adams leans forward, and even though he had pushed away from the table, his height allows him to still be nose to nose with me. "Guess what, life's a bitch, so suck it up, and act like a man."

Having said his piece, Adams stands up to leave. Despite all the tranquilizers running through me, I'm pissed. As he walks away, I yell a 'fuck you' at him and throw my bowl of oatmeal at his back. My aim stinks because I'm weak from not eating and too much medication, so of course, I miss. Adams never looks back, as two orderlies immediately grab and wrestle me back to my room.

* * *

It's lunch time, and Horatio can be found uncharacteristically at his desk doing paperwork. He spent the last weeks fretting and fuming, and questioning the _system_, a system that he's upheld for more than twenty years.

He's on the edge, and he knows that it would only take just a tiny shove to push him over it. Give him some dirt-bag perp, who twitches wrong, and he'd be tempted to blast him away just to make himself feel better. So, for the time being, his subordinates are doing most of the crime work, but he's comforted in the fact that his team is more than competent. They can get the job done without him for a time.

Throwing his pen down, he runs his hand through his hair and thinks of his late wife, Marisol. He hadn't been able to save her, a fact which still gnawed at him on a daily basis. Failing Ryan would only add to his guilt.

"Lieutenant." Detective Adams sticks his head through the door. "Got a minute? I just got back from Dade Memorial. My material witness warrant was finally honored by the pscyh ward, and I talked to Wolfe."

Horatio's head snaps up; his attention has been caught. "Come in, detective. And," he pauses. With so many questions running through his mind, he doesn't know where to begin.

"I think Wolfe may have given us something useful," Adams says, as he steps into Horatio's office and throws himself uninvited, onto the small sofa that's pushed up against the wall across from the office desk.

"He remembers something?" For the first time in more than two weeks, Horatio sees a bit of hope.

"Very little," Adams says with a shrug. "But he says he was in Avery's house, and he talked again about running into a lamp. But it was interesting, because while talking about said lamp, he put his hand up to his head, where he had been wounded. Now granted, Avery is a much bigger man than Wolfe, but I've been asking myself, how does some pencil-pushing lawyer take out a trained cop so thoroughly?"

"By breaking a lamp over his head." Horatio immediately follows Adam's train of thought. "Ryan runs into the lamp and burns himself, giving Avery the opportunity to quickly grab it and use it as a weapon."

"Yep, so you think with Ryan's statement about being inside Avery's house, and your physical evidence, we can get a search warrant for the assistant state attorney's home?"

Horatio considers the question for a moment. "We need something more. Ryan's word is suspect, since he never stated that he was inside the house until now, and we don't really know that the glass shards we took off his head were from a lamp."

"Damn!" Adams spits out the expletive, while stretching out his long legs. "I was so hoping. We just need to get into that weasel's house. Anyway, can I get permission from you to interview that Owens girl? I know that I.A.B has been investigating her, so I want to talk to her informally, you know, without them knowing."

"I do, sir, but Ms. Owens has been conditionally reinstated, and she's not on my watch anymore. To speak with her, you'd have to clear it with the CSI night supervisor, Lieutenant Corey."

"So, I.A.B didn't find anything on her, huh?"

Horatio shakes his head. "No, but the investigation hasn't been closed yet."

"You got a picture of the glass shards found on Wolfe? Cause, I want to ask Owens if Avery owns a glass lamp. If she really doesn't know about any of his questionable activities, she may be able to confirm the existence of said lamp. If she is covering for him, she'll deny its existence, but maybe I can trip her into saying something incriminating. If so, I'll let I.A.B know. You onboard with my plan?"

Horatio says nothing as he pulls out a file from his top drawer. "Here's a photo. Other than the glass, there was nothing else found on his scalp. And, detective, I'll give Corey a call. If I make the request from him, there shouldn't be a problem."

"Good deal, Lieutenant" Adams stands and takes the photo out of Horatio's hand.

"And Ryan, how is it?" Horatio finally asks. He almost dreads the answer he'll get.

Adams does an exaggerated shrug. "Not so good. Doesn't look like he's eating much, but the guy's still got an aggressive streak even with being doped up on tranquilizers."

Horatio feels his stomach tightening up. The rate things are going, even if he is granted guardianship, they might still decide to keep him locked-up.

"He threw a bowl of oatmeal at me, although to be fair, I did provoke him."

"Provoke him?" Horatio cocks his head, as he stares at Adams, his eyes turning hard.

See Horatio's stony expression, Marcus Adams, who can claim military vet, mercenary, and cop on his resume, senses that getting on Horatio's bad side could spell big trouble. "Yeah, I called him a coward. The man has got to wake-up and help us. Forget drug charges, or tampering with evidence, we could get Avery on attempted murder of a police officer; we just need him to step up."

"He was injured; it's possible that his injury is causing his memory loss. . . ." Horatio's voice rises, as Adams is about to interrupt him. "In which case, he's unable to help. Detective." He stands, so he can look Adams straight in the eye. "I don't think there's a need for you to be paying any more visits to Mr. Wolfe."

"Right, Lieutenant." Adams knows when to stand down. "You will still call Corey?"

"Consider it done." Horatio concedes this to the detective because it helps his own case. "If you uncover anything, I want you to report to me first, before I.A.B or Corey, understood?"

"Understood." Adams gives Horatio a salute as he heads for the door, muttering to himself, "and let's never fuck with Lieutenant Caine."

* * *

May 29, 2009

My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that it's causing my legs to tremble, so I'm glad that Dr. Goldberg insisted on a wheelchair for me. He, my lawyer, and an orderly, whose job is to help transport me, enter a room in the Eleventh Judical Circuit of Florida. I don't know why I was expecting a formal courtroom for my guardianship hearing but am surprised to see that the trial is going to take place at a large table with the presiding judge, Judge Castillo, at its head.

The orderly maneuvers me and chair into the room, while my eyes immediately look for him. Horatio is standing on one side of the table, in deep conversation with Dr. Simmons, and I presume, his lawyer. At our entrance the three men turn and look, and I can't help but meet H's eyes. A myriad of emotions cross his face, some of which I can't read, and suddenly I'm confused.

When I first received the summons, stating that Horatio was seeking plenary guardianship over me, I was enraged. Meddling, control freak was my initial thought, but now, as I look at him, I sense that there's more, much more that motivates him to seek custody of me. Although control is still part of the equation, since the man does like to have his say in everything.

The proceedings start, and I listen with half-an-ear. Dr. Goldberg is asked to testify first regarding my condition, state of health, blah, blah, blah. I already know what's wrong with me. Next is Dr. Simmons, who basically says what Dr. Goldbert said, except with more depth, since he treated me longer than Goldberg. I mentally wince, listening to all my medial and psychological troubles is excruciatingly painful.

After the doctors testify, the judge starts to question Horatio. He can't understand how I could be better off in his care than in the care of a psychiatric facility. More explanations with both doctors expressing their expert opinions. Finally, the judge looks in my direction.

"And what do you think about Lieutenant Caine being appointed your guardian?"

Now's my chance, I think. I can put up such a stink, that the judge will have no choice but to deny Horatio. My lawyer turns, looking at me expectantly. I open my mouth, but what comes out surprises not only my lawyer, but myself.

"I'm okay with it. It's probably the best thing for me."

My lawyer is astonished, since I had retained him specifically to fight Horatio's petition. I sigh silently, and close my eyes for a moment to search my soul. Deep down I know that if I'm ever to lead somewhat of a normal life again, this would be the way.

"All right." The judge is a bit surprised too. "Well, since everyone is agreement, I'll grant the petitioner his request, but with one change. I want Mr. Wolfe's to be under the joint guardianship of both Lieutenant Horatio Caine and Dr. Robert Simmons. I think. . . ."

"Your Honor," I interrupt. "Dr. Simmons is my psyciatrist; I don't want him to be my guardian too. Let the Lieutenant have sole custody of me."

"And what is your reason?" Judge Castillo stares at me with an curious look.

"I don't want to have to deal with two people with every decision in my life," I reply truthfully.

"Sounds practical." The judge seems satisfied with my answer. "Anyone disagree, or have other thoughts?"

My lawyer speaks up, probably thinking he needs to say something to justify the retainer I owe him. "My concern is why is Lieutenant Caine seeking plenary guardianship? If it's Mr. Wolfe's medical issues that are a concern, then why not limit it to just medical decisions?"

Horatio's lawyer quickly jumps in, and they go back and forth a bit, debating the question. The first meeting with my lawyer, he had given me a long-winded explanation of the difference between limited and plenary guardianship, and I immediately knew that Horatio, being the control king, would naturally seek plenary. Then, it had made me even angrier, but now? I do a mental shrug. What difference does it make?

I finally break-in to put a halt to the debate. I'm at peace with my future, so I just want this process to be over.

"After I pay you," I address my lawyer. "And my medical bills, I don't have any estate that he can control, so it's a moot point."

That brings a small smile to some of the faces, including Judge Castillo. "Okay, Mr. Wolfe, then if you have no objections, I will grant temporary plenary guardisnship of Ryan Wolfe to Horatio Caine. A review will be held. . . ."

I tune the judge out, closing my eyes again. It's over. I'm going home.

* * *

May 30, 2009

It's his voice that brings me back from the darkness that has haunted me for months now.

"Ryan, it's time to wake-up. Ryan, **wake-up**!"

A part of my brain sparks, and I fight my way back to consciousness, but this time instead of waking-up in a hospital bed, I'm at a door, trying to open it. It takes a few seconds to orient myself, but yes, I'm standing at Horatio's front door, hand on doorknob. H is at my side, speaking in my ear.

"This door won't open," I say, and then as I fully regain my faculties, I realize that the door really doesn't open. "I'm awake now; how come I can't open this frigging door?" I tug futilely at the knob.

"Ryan, stay calm." The volume of H's voice rises a bit, probably to keep me from going off like I had in the hospital. "The door is locked with a deadbolt."

My eyes focus, and I see a new lock had been installed in the door, a deadbolt that requires a key. For some illogical reason, I tug on the door once more and then realize that H had deliberately installed it to keep me in.

"Oh my God!" I lean my forehead against the door. "You had to child-proof your house for me!" Out of the corner of my eye, I see H's mouth twitch, but to his credit he doesn't grin outright.

"You know it's necessary. The only other option would be for you to return to the hospital and be tied down at night. And that, I won't allow. Now, come." He gently turns me toward the bedroom.

"Can't put a deadbolt on the patio doors, so what did you do to those?" I ramble, as he leads me back to bed.

"I had special locks installed, and there are alarms on the doors and windows."

I swear to myself, as I crawl back into bed. Man, I am one gigantic pain in the ass. "H, I'm going to pay you back for all this. In fact, now that you have authority over my money, take my checks. Hopefully, that will cover," I break off, as I see a glimmer of something that passes over his face. Being a cop for so many years, and doing a stint as an undercover, H has perfected a poker face. But I'm a gambler, and I can read tells, especially someone I've known for years. "What? What's the problem?"

He hesitates in answering me, and I know he's contemplating how to be evasive.

"H, what's the problem? Am I not getting paid anymore?"

Since I confronted him outright, he can only respond truthfully. "MDPD has suspended your workman's compensation. They're saying," he pauses a moment, as he sits on the bed next to me "that your current health issues were not sustained on the job, so. . . ."

"I have no income!" I interject, sitting up straight. I can feel my blood pressure rising.

"Ryan!" H takes me by the shoulders and grips me tight. "Don't panic. I have my lawyer researching your situation, and since I am now, not only your supervisor but your guardian too, will look into the matter. It will all get worked out."

"You sound certain." I relax under his grip and lie back.

"I am."

Always the confident tone; I can't help but envy him for it. I push myself over, as H settles down next to me. It feels awkward sharing a bed with him again. Earlier, I had straddled the edge, to keep myself as far away as possible, but this time, that isn't going to be an option. As soon as he's under the covers, he pulls me close, a hand behind my head, pushing it down to his naked chest. My arm automatically goes around his waist, and we lay together, his hand still resting on me. I can hear the steady beat of his heart; it has a soothing effect, and I can feel my eyes getting heavy. I hear a whisper before I fall into a deep sleep.

"Ryan, I promise you, you're going to alright."

* * *

TBC

Fourth part is being written, but since I'm going to have a very busy June and July, will not be posted until probably August. And damn CBS for not renewing CSI Miami; I'm still in mourning.


End file.
